


So Fresh, So Clean

by perfchan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Fluff, Drabble, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Happy Birthday Lance, Keith is lowkey pining, Klance if you squint, Lance (Voltron) is a Dork, Lance is sentimental, Lance's Birthday, M/M, There's A Tag For That, but you didn't hear it from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 05:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11640321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfchan/pseuds/perfchan
Summary: Lance begins the countdown to his birthday early. Things don't really go as planned.





	So Fresh, So Clean

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to give Lance a cute, silly drabble for his birthday. I love all of Voltron so much, but that Blue Paladin though......

 

***

 

One month, eleven days, and four hours prior: 

 

“Hunk. Hey. Hey, Hunk, He-”

 

“Yes? Lance?” Hunk swivels around in his chair and lifts the goggles off of his eyes. “Buddy, I don’t wanna be rude or anything, but, like, this is possibly radioactive. Probably.” Hunk fiddles with the bundle wires of amidst the haphazard pile of alien tech through which he’s rummaging. Fixing? He continues under his breath, “I mean, our suits are made for deep space so I assume they can handle whatever this thing has to offer, but I’m not trying to--” 

 

“Guess what?” 

 

Hunk picks up his pencil and jots down several notes in the pad he keeps at the edge of his organized chaos (also known as his workbench). “I dunno. What?”

 

“Uh, no.” Lance shakes his head. “It’s no fun if you don’t even try.”  

 

Hunk doesn’t seem to be paying attention, but hazards a guess all the same: “You walked in on Shiro singing in the shower again?”

 

“No….God no, that was so awkward….”

 

“Allura finally agreed to institute a weekly Spa Night as part of our Paladin Bonding Exercises?”

 

“I’m still working on that.” (She’ll crack eventually, Lance is sure of it). 

 

“You beat Keith’s record on the gladiator?”

 

“Okay, now you’re just trying to make me mad.” Lance crosses his arms and pouts in mock anger. 

 

Hunk scratches his temple with the eraser of his space-pencil, looking up at Lance, apologetic. “I mean, it might be easier if you just tell me.” 

 

Lance snaps out of the pout into full on jazz hands. “It’s almost my birthdaaaay~!” he crows.  

 

Using his fingers to count, Hunk furrows his brow for a moment. They don’t talk about it much, but keeping track of the Earth calendar is something that all the Paladins attempt, even though dates get a bit fuzzy from time-to-time. “Dude, it should still be almost two months away.”

 

“Oh! How convenient! You’ll have plenty of time to plan my party!” Lance winks at him. 

 

*

 

Twenty-six days and two hours prior: 

 

“Is this seat taken?” Lance asks innocently, before sitting squarely on top of Pidge. 

 

“Lance Charles McClain.” Pidge’s low tone causes everyone in the room to pause. They fall silent, save for an audible intake of breath from Hunk. 

 

Lance pales slightly, but decides to push his luck. “That’s so weird,” he says, wiggling in her lap. “I could’ve sworn I heard something.” 

 

“You have approximately ten ticks to remove your bony ass and all its accoutrements from my person, before I--” 

 

“Before you  _ what _ , Pidge?” Lance says, smirking. 

 

She jabs him in the ribs with her knuckle, hard. He spasms dramatically, and falls to the floor, clutching his side, wailing. 

 

“Drama queen,” she states, unimpressed. She returns to her screen, poking at the hand-held’s keyboard as though she had never been interrupted in the first place. 

 

“All because I wanted to ask you a simple question,” Lance simpers, wiping crocodile tears from his eyes as he shimmies up close to rest his chin on one of her knees. 

 

Pidge rolls her eyes, matching his dramatics with her own. “Fine.” 

 

She shoos him off her lap once more, and he leans on one elbow against the couch cushion, surveying her with half-lidded eyes and a devious smile, the picture of suave-ness (so he thinks). “I was just wondering….whatcha getting me for my birthday?” 

 

The room collectively sighs. 

 

*

 

One Day and Nineteen hours prior: 

 

“Now, if you’ll review the rather handy diagram on page 187 of your blue packet--” Coran pauses, allowing time for the group to shuffle through their numerous workbooks, “You will notice, that, indeed, the Ys’rithni were far ahead of their time, both in regard to--” 

 

Lance drifts off, barely even doodling in the margins of  _ Military Segmentation Amidst Policy Diffusion: Part Six of An Empirical Analysis of the Rise and Fall of Empires, _ An Introductory Guide Compiled By  Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe (title subject to change upon revision and publication). There’s only so many mustaches you can draw on pictures of aliens before that joke gets old. He considers another test of his working theory that Keith Sleeps Through Lecture Despite His Eyes Being Open, but the previous day’s experiment had earned him an extra essay as homework AND a disappointed look from Shiro. Better not. 

 

Instead he decides that some good old-fashioned note passing is the only way he won’t lose his mind prior to afternoon training drills. He scribbles down a cute “wyd” and pretends to stretch, poised to drop the note in Hunk’s lap. 

 

“Ah! A question?” Coran locks on to his movement with frightening enthusiasm. “I understand completely, why when I first learned of the pure political  _ upheaval _ following the Pyh-Ys’rithni Accord, I was  _ flabbergasted,  _ and yet--” 

 

“Seriously.” Lance agrees, nodding his head with vigor. (He notes out of the corner of his eye,  Keith blinking blearily, disoriented by the break in Coran’s monotone. He was  _ so _ asleep!) “But yeah, all this,” Lance waves his hand vaguely, “Reallllllly got me thinking: What was the best birthday party in the history of the galaxy? Like, ever?” 

 

Lance barrels on, ignoring that Pidge has removed her glasses and begun to gently bang her forehead against the desk, “I just wanna know what I’m up against! Like, the house party to end all house parties. The shindig of the galaxy! You guys have a lot to live up to--tell ‘em Coran!” 

 

*

 

July Twenty-Eighth, the morning: 

 

“Goooooood morning my fellow defenders of the universe~” Lance sing-songs as he waltzes into the kitchen. He’s not typically a morning person. Not that he minds getting up early….but….you can’t just roll out of bed and look this stunningly handsome, okay, it takes  _ time _ , so that means he’s usually running behind schedule. Back home, he was the one who arrived at any given function fifteen minutes late, sipping an iced latte. Not really morning person material. 

 

But, how can Lance not be a morning person when it’s his birthday? His enthusiastic greeting is met with lackluster response, however. Hunk barely lifts his head and Keith and Pidge ignore him outright. 

 

“Okay,” Lance says, eyes narrowed. “I see what’s going on here.”  He continues through the kitchen, shooting them all suspicious glances as he pours himself a cup of coffee. 

 

He opens the cabinet and gasps. Just sitting there, right in front, is the  _ Good Bowl _ . 

 

It’s not really any better than the other bowls, honestly. But, despite the Altean penchant for color-coding, it’s patterned. Practically the only pattern in the entire castle. It has a weird looking design of purple and orange fruit on the inside and little polka dots around the edge. It’s hideous and the rim is slightly chipped and it looks like it came from a weird alien thrift store and Lance loves it.

 

Because of this, it’s become a morning ritual to argue with whoever tries to use the Good Bowl,  _ his _ Good Bowl. And, because Lance tends to be late to breakfast, he usually loses this particular argument to Keith. Keith pays little attention to anything that’s not sharp/pointy or trying to kill him or both, in Lance’s opinion, and therefore cannot begin to appreciate the unique  _ aesthetic _ the Good Bowl has to offer. Keith typically responds that, regardless of the container it’s in, food goo is food goo and Lance needs to get a grip and stop being so melodramatic. But not today, apparently. 

 

“You can have it,” Keith says, a bit sullenly, in response to Lance’s gasp upon opening the cabinet. 

 

Lance blinks. He looks around at the rest of the table as if in shock, but the effect is ruined as neither was really paying attention to his exchange with Keith. Pidge is already clacking out something seemingly complex on her laptop (undeterred by the rule that it should be put away during mealtimes when at all possible), and Hunk is absorbed in his own breakfast. 

 

Despite his lack of an audience, Lance still makes a show of marching up to where Keith is leaning against the counter. He promptly invades his personal space and, lifting up Keith’s bangs without preamble, presses his palm against Keith’s forehead. 

 

“Lance. What are. You doing.” Keith looks up at him. He grits out the words slowly as if he’s trying to be careful. 

 

“You must be sick or something,” Lance shakes his head, his opposite hand on his own forehead to compare temperatures. “Or maaaybe,” he draws out, as though it’s just dawned on him, “maybe this isn’t Keith at all, but an alien clone!!” He pats down Keith’s face and shoulders with both hands, pinches his cheek, lifts his arms dramatically, then moves to his chest and torso, half mock-serious and half openly curious about just how far he can push Keith. 

 

Not very far. 

 

Keith (who is decidedly  _ not _ a morning person, not now, not ever), is out of already out of patience, and swats him away violently, re-crossing his arms. “You are  _ so  _ lucky it’s your birthday,” he grumbles. Lance grins. 

 

Hunk sighs, “Keeeeiith, you ruined it already!!” Pidge visibly deflates in her chair. 

 

“He was torturing me?” Keith spouts, indignant. 

 

“Aha! I knew you guys remembered!!” Lance turns to claim his goo, in the Good Bowl. 

 

“You made it literally impossible for us to forget.” Pidge comments drily. “Happy birthday.”

 

“Happy birthday, buddy,” Hunk gets up and wraps him in one of his signature bone-crushing, feet-off-the-floor hugs. Lance snuggles into him. 

 

Allura enters the room, followed closely by Shiro. 

 

“I thought the plan was to pretend that we had forgotten Lance’s birthday until tonight?” Shiro wonders at the scene. 

 

“I was trying to be nice, but Lance ruined it.” Keith says in explanation.

 

“What the plan for tonight?” Lance questions slyly. 

 

“Absolutely nothing.” Allura responds, clapping her hands. “Alright, paladins, today’s schedule--”

 

Coran’s voice crackles over the castle’s communication system. “Paladins, is the Princess with you?”

 

“Yes, Coran, we’ve all gathered in the communal dining area,” she responds. “Is there a problem?”

 

(“You’d think she’d just call it a kitchen by now,” Hunk shakes his head.) 

 

“I wouldn’t say a problem, exactly,” the distinct sound of rushing water is followed by a muffled shout. 

 

“Coran? What’s going on?”

 

“Just a bit of a snag in the old hydration containment system, I’m guessing.” (The sound of slipping and a loud gurgle.) “The good news is, I’ve managed to stop the leak. The bad news is, I’m afraid, the Paladin Clothing Decontamination Unit is in bad shape.” 

 

“Oh no!” Lance shouts, “Not the ol’ PCDU!!” He turns to Allura. “So, uh, what’s the Paladin Clothing Decontamination Unit?” 

 

*

 

It’s the laundry room. And it’s a mess. 

 

They don’t even have to get all the way there to discover this, as the suds are leaking out into the hall, water dripping out of the vents halfway there. There seems to have been some kind of soap explosion, followed by an impressive rupture in one of the main pipes. 

 

“Alright team, here’s the plan,” Shiro gathers them together once they rescue Coran from his island of clothing amongst the bubbles. “Pidge, you and Hunk are in charge of devising a way to repair the damages. Princess, can you retrieve the Castle’s plans and figure out exactly where the leak occurred? Keith and I will help implement whatever Hunk and Pidge need, and in the meantime, we’ll manually inspect the vents for water damage. Lance, you stay with Coran and help him contain this.” 

 

Hunk and Keith nod, ready. 

 

“Awww man, why am I the one on clean-up duty?” Lance complains, stroking a beard he crafted for himself out of bubbles. 

 

“Uh, Paladin of Water, remember?” Keith splashes him. 

 

“I would have totally picked a different element if I knew Paladin of Water meant Paladin of Mopping.” Lance splashes him back. “I hope tomorrow you’re ready to scrape out the castle’s ovens, Paladin of Fire.” 

 

“You cannot ‘pick’ your element; the bond between each Paladin and their lion--” 

 

Pidge cuts Allura off. “Do we really want to leave Lance alone with Coran? Remember what happened last time?” 

 

“Hey!” Lance smirks, “I was just taking it upon myself to teach Coran some traditional Earth ballads!” 

 

Shiro sighs, “And I will never recover from hearing Coran recite ‘Get Low’ in front of hundreds of aliens at a holy banquet.” He reevaluates his strategy in light of Pidge’s reminder. “Okay, Lance, you’re with me. Keith, you help Coran here.”

 

Lance sticks out his tongue as soon as Keith has his back turned. 

 

* 

 

July Twenty-Eighth, mid-morning, afternoon, AND evening: 

 

Cleaning up takes  _ forever _ . 

 

Pretty much as soon as Shiro and Lance start with the vents, another, bigger, pipe breaks, soaking them entirely. He definitely should have stayed with Coran. Lance spends the whole day clammy and tired, trying to match Shiro’s indefatigable level-headedness as they painstakingly patch up each hairline fracture in the castle’s ancient plumbing. 

 

Luckily the two technological geniuses of the team work out a way to fix everything, and thank quiznak, there’s no lasting damage. At the end of the day, the team gathers around the table for a simple dinner, victorious over the evil of a leaky castle, but exhausted, cranky and with raisin-y skin. Everyone is more than ready to bring this day to a close with some much deserved rest. 

 

Lance slips away first, anxious to change into warm and cozy and dry pajamas. He finds that he can’t quite crawl into bed just yet, however, and makes his way to his favorite quiet corner of the ship. 

 

He sits, looking out into space, leisurely going over the day in his mind, arms folded under his head. It had been a good day, all things considered. No attacks, no one getting hurt, no weird alien ceremonies or creepy mumbo-jumbo. 

 

The quiet is broken as he hears Keith approach from down the hall. 

 

“Hey,” Keith begins, uncharacteristically soft in the silence. 

 

“Hey,” Lance agrees. He motions for Keith to sit down but he shakes his head. 

 

Keith looks at the ground, seemingly unsure of what to say. He changed into something dry as well, but his hair still shows the day’s events, unusually frizzy and fluffed out around his face. He picks at the ends of it with one hand while he decides how to start, making the break in the conversation awkward. Lance wants to tell him ‘just spit it out already,’ but that doesn’t seem to fit with the moment, so he holds his tongue and settles for (an only  _ somewhat _ rude) raised eyebrow. 

 

Keith coughs lightly. “Anyways. Happy birthday.” He holds out his fist. 

 

Lance grins, leaning to close the space between them, palm outstretched to accept whatever Keith is clutching.  “Aww Keith-y, you shouldn’t have.” The smile slides off his face when Keith drops a roll of candies into his hand. 

 

‘The Chewy Mint,’ declares the wrapper, in small font over bubble letters familiar to anyone who’s ever been in a gas station or grocery store. About half of the roll of Mentos has already been eaten, so the tube is crinkled on one end, folded over itself. 

 

“Keith.” Lance states, turning over the package. 

 

“It’s a stupid gift; I know,” Keith shrugs. “But that’s the only thing I had in my belt that I thought you might like.” 

 

“No.” Lance shakes his head. It’s not a stupid gift, but he can’t possibly….. 

 

When the five of them left Earth, they weren’t exactly planning for a long trip. Pidge had her backpack. Hunk had a few odds and ends in his pockets. Lance didn’t have much more than the clothes on his back and his wallet. He’s rifled through the thing a million times now, memories of home under his fingertips. Seven dollars, his student ID, a bus pass, a couple old receipts, and one of those punch cards to get a free drink after buying ten, for the coffeehouse that lies just outside the Garrison’s campus. There’s only one punch on it so far, from the day he moved in. 

 

All insignificant, but also all he has left of Earth. All he will have, for the foreseeable future. Keith might have even less, Lance thinks, depending on what he keeps in the packs on his ultra-lame utility belt. He shakes his head again, and drops the candies back into Keith’s hands. “I can’t.”

 

Keith’s lips purse, halfway between irritation and bemusement. “You’re so sentimental. It’s not that big of deal.”

 

“You were saving them,” Lance argues. 

 

“I don’t even like them,” Keith counters. “The last time I stocked up on supplies in the desert, the lady working the counter threw them in for free--”

 

“Probably ‘cause your breath smelled,” Lance mutters. 

 

“Because she was being  _ nice _ ,” Keith emphasizes, then continues primly. “I normally only keep essentials in my belt.” He shoves the mints back into Lance’s hands. “Just take them already!” 

 

Lance sighs. He pats the spot next to him on the bench. “Fine. We’ll share them.” 

 

“If you want. It’s your present.” Keith sits down, holding out his hand obediently as Lance rolls a couple mints out of the tube with his thumb. 

 

Lance still hesitates a bit before finally trying the first one. He wants to laugh, he feels so silly, because he’s such a  _ softie _ that it does kinda make him tear up. It’s just….the last time he had these was probably in high school, bummed off one of his friends after lunch period. It’s a distinct flavor, the sweet mint, one he definitely hasn’t had since leaving Earth. It brings back pointless, pleasant memories, lighthearted times that seem a lifetime ago. 

 

“Stale.” Keith remarks.

 

Lance elbows him. Sure, the mints are a little old, kinda sticking to his teeth more than they should, but to even have them at all, this far from home, is something of a miracle. It’s amazing, Keith saved them for all this time, only to give them away, to him. He’s grateful. 

 

“Sorry it wasn’t a very good birthday.” 

 

“Huh?” Lance stops mid-chew and turns to Keith. “What do you mean by that?” 

 

Keith looks uncomfortable. “You...were all excited about it, but we didn’t have a party, or a birthday cake, or go anywhere special or anything…”

 

“Nah, I don’t really care about any of that.”

 

“You don’t??” Keith narrows his eyes, and begins ticking off on his fingers all the obnoxious ways that Lance has counted down the months, weeks, days,  _ hours _ , until his birthday. 

 

“That was all, I dunno,” Lance waves his hand dismissively, “A joke. I really don’t care.” 

 

The frown on Keith’s face is remarkable. 

 

“I know I’m the one who’s just had a birthday, but you’re gonna give yourself premature wrinkles, man.” Lance taps his own forehead to emphasize. 

 

“I don’t get it.” Keith’s looking at Lance with open, unabashed confusion, like Lance is a complete and total enigma. “If it wasn’t a big deal, why did you make it into such a big deal?” 

 

Lance laughs, an actual, real laugh, one hand pressed to his face. He drags it down his cheek, shaking his head. “You are so...”

 

Keith opens his hands like,  _ what _ ?

 

“Have you ever noticed that saving the universe is actually surprisingly mundane?” 

 

Keith shrugs. 

 

Lance squeezes out the last two mints and hands one to Keith before popping the other in his mouth. He sucks on it for a minute and then, tucking it in his cheek, he muses. “Maybe mundane is the wrong word. It’s not like being out here is boring, but…it’s so serious.” At the darkening of Keith’s expression, Lance continues in a huff. “I know, I know, it  _ is _ serious. Believe me, I know. But I can’t…” Lance trails off, lost in what he’s trying to say. “I guess, I can’t be focused on how serious it is all the time.” His voice is small as he finishes. “Maybe that means I’m the wrong kind of guy for the job. But I’m here, so I’m doing the best I can.” 

 

Nodding slowly, Keith takes a moment to process this, gather his thoughts. He’s firm when he replies. “I don’t think you’re the wrong kind of guy.”  

 

“You don’t?” Lance feigns surprise at the admission, already scrambling to pull the conversation back from ‘emotionally vulnerable’ territory. “I would’ve that that  _ Keith _ , of all people--”

 

Keith bumps their shoulders together. “Shut up, you know it’s not like that.” 

 

It’s not like that. Lance does know, and it makes him smile, a little wistful, down into his lap. “Thanks, Keith.” 

 

Keith nods, eyes on the stars outside the window. The silence between them lightens into something comfortable. 

 

*

 

July Twenty-Ninth, far too early: 

 

“Ooooph!” The air rushes out of Lance’s chest in a painful gasp before he’s even awake. It’s surprising how effective Pidge is at crushing his lungs despite her small stature. 

 

“Wake-up sleeping beauty,” she bounces on top of him, way too smug, “birthday boy~” 

 

“‘Sts not my birthday,” Lance groans, pulling the covers over his face in denial. 

 

“Yeah but the castle kinda ruined your real birthday, so we’re having a re-do.” Hunk explains. 

 

“Five more minutes,” Lance rolls over, taking Pidge with him, beginning to smirk. “I’m just gonna cuddle with Pidgey here,”

 

“Get off me!” She leans in close to his face, “I’ll kick sand in your drink.”

 

Lance sits up. “Sand?” His eyes light up, “You guys?” 

 

Shiro smiles. “Wanna spend the day at the beach?” 

 

“Nuh uh. Seriously?” 

 

“You know,” Shiro shrugs, “It’ll be good for raising morale, team bonding...nailing you guys in a water balloon fight…..” 

 

“Oh, you’re on,” Lance motions between himself and Keith, “Me and Mullet here are gonna destroy you.”

 

Keith shakes his head. “I’m on Shiro’s team.” 

 

He looks scandalized as Shiro politely disagrees,  “I’m a team of one. None of you are safe.” 

 

Coran’s voice comes in bright and cheerful over the comms in Lance’s room. “We’ve just completed the wormhole. Ready when you are, Paladins!” 

 

*

 

Allura wins any and all water balloon fights. 

 

***

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday Lance!!!!!
> 
> find me @jacqulinetan on twitter for plentiful klance retweets and the occasional fangirling


End file.
